Seregil could tell that whatever the truth had been at the time, the man believed his own story now, and thought he meant what he’d just said. But then, they’d both had four decades to dwell on the events of that summer. Did either of them remember anything more than they really wanted to?

Ilar sighed. “You don’t believe me, do you, Haba?”

“What does it matter, Master?” Seregil replied, fighting down the sudden rush of doubt.

Ilar leaned down suddenly, caught him by the collar, and pulled him into a hard kiss. The oil flask fell again, and the scent of roses engulfed them. Seregil made no effort to resist or participate, and he was gratified to see the hint of disappointment in the other man’s eyes as he pulled back. He stayed very still as Ilar cupped his face in both hands and looked into his eyes. After a moment he laughed softly and released Seregil. “Even after all these years, and all that’s befallen me, I’m still tempted. You should be flattered.”

“I suppose I am, Master.” Seregil forced the lie out, shaping it with a grudging sincerity. Let Ilar think he’d been moved by something other than disgust.

Perhaps the act rang true. Ilar grabbed him by the arms and pulled Seregil into his lap as if he were still the green young boy he’d been that long-ago summer. Seregil kept himself pliant and unresisting as Ilar ran greedy hands over his face, shoulders, and chest, then pulled him close to breathe in the scent of his hair.

And for one brief, traitorous moment, Seregil’s body remembered that touch.

Suddenly Ilar pushed Seregil from his lap. He landed on his ass and the bastard gave him a push with one oiled foot, sending Seregil onto his back.

“Feh! It’s like handling a corpse. Do you think you’ll win me over like that?” Ilar barked an order and one of the men outside came in and handed him the whip.

Seregil cowered on the rug, one hand on the wet patch of carpet where the oil had spilled, as Ilar rained blows down on his bowed back and shoulders. “Forgive me, Master! I didn’t dare presume. Do you want-?” Forgive me, Alec. “Do you want me tonight?”

With a bitter laugh, Ilar threw the whip down and pulled up the hem of his robe, letting Seregil see the ruin there. “What use would I have for you, like this?”

Seregil couldn’t suppress a shudder of sympathy; everything had been taken from Ilar. He had nothing left between his legs but scars.

“Oh, Master!” Still not ready to give up the game, he carefully placed a hand on the man’s thigh, just below the hip. “You wouldn’t be my first eunuch.”

Ilar stepped back and dropped his robe, but for just an instant Seregil caught the fleeting glimpse of a naked emotion in those hazel eyes: want.

“Really?” Ilar sneered. “What an interesting life you’ve led, being free all these years. Would you play the clever whore for me, too, for the sake of that half-breed of yours? Or are you planning to insinuate yourself into my bed so you can strangle me there?”

Seregil sat back on his heels and met his tormentor eye to eye, unflinching. “I gave you my word, Master Ilar: My life for his. I won’t harm you as long as he remains alive.”

And once again, he saw that hesitation, that hint of vulnerability. And once again, it passed.

Ilar shook his head and put his clothing back in order. “No? Well, perhaps I will consider your very generous offer, but not tonight.”

He picked up the whip and went to the door. “Oh, and to answer your earlier question, Master Yhakobin is generously setting me up in a house of my own, once he’s achieved success. Freedmen with a patron like mine live very, very well here. You’ll be my very first slave, an ornament for my household. So enjoy your glimpses of your talimenios while you can.”

Seregil remained on his knees for some time, surrounded by the overpowering smell of roses. Time was growing short. He silently thanked the Four that Ilar had revealed as much as he had. It stuck in his throat, to play the broken, docile slave, but tonight’s work made it all worthwhile.

Now, to learn how long he had.

The scent of the oil clung to Seregil’s hands even after he’d scrubbed them in the basin. It pervaded his dreams as he lay in the dark, chasing sleep.

Wild white roses were blooming along the river by his father’s encampment that summer. Ilar had plucked one for him the first time they’d kissed. He carefully broke off the thorns and tucked it behind Seregil’s ear.

“You’re lovely.”

“I’m not. You just want to kiss me again.”

“You are, and I do.”

And he had.

Seregil handed him a rose, but instead it was a dagger and he plunged it into Ilar’s beautiful throat, as unerringly as he had with the Haman he’d killed…

Now it was the young Haman lying at his feet. Moonlight turned the blood black on the dead man’s skin and clothing, and his hair was like a halo of snow. And Ilar was there in the shadows, sobbing, with blood running down his thighs…No, it was Alec. They’d gelded Alec! And something pale and frightening was struggling beneath the bushes, rustling in the dead leaves…

Seregil sat up in the darkness and put a hand to his cheek. He was crying. But for whom?

The sound of the rustling leaves came again, startling him badly, until he realized it was someone scratching at his door.

He went to the door and pressed an ear to it, whispering, “Who is it?” He had an idea, but was careful not to betray any potential ally if it was Ilar out there, playing with him out of spite.

“It’s Rhania.” She spoke so softly he could hardly hear her.

“What do you want?”

“Are you a ‘runner in the night,’ as they say?”

“Did you wake me just to ask me that?”

“Does a runner in the night know how to run away from this house?”

Seregil waited, saying nothing.

“Can you get out of here?” she whispered urgently.

“As you can see, I can’t even get out of this room.”

“But if you could?”

“Perhaps. But they cut off the feet of those who run away. Zoriel told me so.”

“Only those who are caught.”

“You want me to help you escape?”

“Shhhh!” A pause, then, “Yes! Until now I have had no hope, but I heard Khenir speak of you to some of the others, bragging how he had brought low so clever a man as you.”

“Did he, now?”

“Yes. You hate Khenir, do you not? Perhaps even as much as I?”

“Oh, I think I have more practice at it than even you, my lady. Do you know how soon he is leaving this house?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks, perhaps? A house is being made ready for him.”

“Have you seen a blond half ’faie here? In the workshop, perhaps?”

“Yes, he’s there. He’s closely watched.” She paused, then whispered more softly still, “Someone is coming! Think on what I have said.”

Seregil didn’t hear so much as a whisper of a footstep, but when he heard several pairs of heavy feet pass by a moment later without incident, he knew she was gone.

He went back to bed with his heart racing. It was too soon to get his hopes up, but this was the start he’d hoped for. He whispered a blessing aloud across his left palm, “Marös Aura Elustri chyptir! Hang on, talí. I’ll be with you soon!”